


That Must Be Love

by Jillian Maria (masterofthefictionalyard)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Friendship, Gen, also the rape mention is not explicit but it's definitely there, and it's not really stated, as might be expected with martha's backstory, basically all the characters show up but she's the main focus, but since this fic isn't rly about that, fun fact she's dating georg in this au, i didn't put it in the tags, martha is my child and i wanted to write about her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterofthefictionalyard/pseuds/Jillian%20Maria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha has spent a long time wondering just what love is. Now, she's beginning to find it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Must Be Love

_“My Uncle Klaus says, ‘If you don’t discipline a child, you don’t love it.’ ”_

_Clenched fists. Swallowed tears. “That must be.” Lies caught on the edges of a broken glass smile._

—-

Martha has spent most of her life wondering about love. What is it? What does it feel like? How would she know if she had it? How would she know how to keep it?

For a long time, she tried finding love in the blows from her father’s belt. If discipline meant love, then no one was loved more than the Bessell’s only child. And when kind words were showered on her in front of their neighbors, it was easy to forget about what happened behind closed doors. Each and every time she was called worthless was only to build her up, to make her more. To make her try harder at being worthy.

Often, she wonders what would have happened if she had accepted that version of love. She carries that girl somewhere deep inside of her, a girl covered in scars with plain brown hair ties securing the ends of her braids. Martha can sometimes see her in her mind’s eye, sitting in the corner of her bedroom, eyes glassy and dull, waiting for permission to breathe, never given permission to speak.

Martha thinks she came very close to becoming that girl, or something like her. Even with whispered secrets exchanged with Ilse before she left for Priapia, even as the girls looked on in sympathy at her rolled up sleeves, it still could have happened. She would never have spoken out about the beatings, never would have dared dressing in the dark to climb out her window as her father snored across the hall. She would have become quiet, complacent. The obedient daughter that her father had always hoped for.

Maybe she even would have believed it when words of love tumbled from her father’s lips, rough hands running along the ruffles of her nightgown. She would have taken pride in the way his breath lingered against her skin, the way he called her _beauty_. The very thought causes her to shudder, but it’s there all the same. She doesn’t know who she would have been if the flames within her hadn’t been fanned to life.

But Martha considers herself lucky, so lucky. Because in the past year she's found love in a million places, and found it to be so much more than the fleeting praises of a mother who would always turn back to harsh words, or the gentle touch of a father who would leave bruises in his wake the second doors were closed.

She found love in quiet conversations before Mass with Otto, making little gifts of cookies and doodles when he brought her pretty ribbons and fabrics, passing it into her coat from the shop his mother ran and whispering that it was just going to be thrown away, anyways, and he was sure she could do something _much_ nicer with it.

She found love while dancing along to this silliest music in Anna’s living room, almost crying from laughter as the girl tried to insist that, yes, it was completely natural to waltz along with “What’s New, Pussycat,” it was written in ¾ time, _Martha_! Being forced into the lead as the tallest one, winding up jumping around in decidedly the _least_ waltz-y fashion.

She found love by the stream with Wendla, Martha's hands busy braiding flower stems as the smaller girl watched in awe, thrilled by a skill she hadn’t quite been able to master. Conversations passed amicably to the tune of the babbling water; what did you dream of last night; aren’t the flowers beautiful, isn’t life wonderful? Undying optimism much sweeter than the scent of daisies.

She found love during study hall with Hanschen, watching as first years stared at them in shock, surprised into an answering smile from his unexpectedly contagious one. Hours spent pondering the rumors that _somehow_ seemed to follow the two of them, something ridiculous about them being immortal assassins forever at odds, half joke and half legend in the hallways.

She found love passing notes with Bobby Maler during Morality class, appreciating the way he never got annoyed with her friends’ seemingly irrational hatred of him. Sending him texts promising to sew him a new pair of khakis over his protests after his last pair met an unfortunate end in his fireplace at the hands of a certain intoxicated bohemian.

She found love exchanging quick banter with Melchior, accidentally-on-purpose nudging his elbow so that he smeared vanilla ice cream across the tip of his nose, hiding a laugh behind a palm and a roll of her eyes as he tried to lick it off, refusing the napkin even when she offered it, couldn’t she see that now it was the _principle_ of the thing?

She found love spending rainy afternoons in Ernst’s room, him pulling at her sleeve, promising that yes, of course they’d study after just _one_ game of Cluedo. Tupperware containers full of soup for when he inevitably got sick, eventually giving up on homework to watch Barbie movies because he had that sort of face she just couldn’t say no to.

She found love braiding ribbons in Thea’s hair, smiling as she posed in front of the mirror, giggling as she tucked fake flowers behind her ears. Her eyes sometimes darted to Martha’s sleeves but she never minded it, she simply twined their fingers together and suggested a walk outside where they could find real flowers to complete her hair.

She found love in late night conversations with Moritz, texts and tweets exchanged long after everyone else managed to sleep. They’d talk about everything and nothing, because what they actually said to each other paled in comparison to what they meant, assuring each other that even in the small hours of the morning they weren’t alone, it would be okay for the both of them.

She found love at the beach in Georg’s old Jeep, endless conversations about things that could only be talked about in the dead of night accompanied by gentle touches, never forced. Secrets they never dared to say as they sat next to each other in their literature class could have almost been drowned out by the crashing waves, but they caught them, and kept them safe for each other.

She found love watching Ilse come to her barefoot in the meadow, hands outstretched and smile as wild and free as she had ever seen it, beckoning her to dance even when there was no music. Martha following along, knowing that Ilse was going home to a house that no longer held a cloud of anger and fear over it, knowing that her time in Priapia was behind her.

Martha found her own definition of love, and it carries her through to this day. It isn’t an easy thing, this love, it never has been. It came to her once wearing nothing but a man’s oversized shirt and weary bones. Sometimes it comes to her speaking in a mumbled voice that can hardly be understood past tear stains and shaking hands. It comes to her with uncomprehending eyes, questioning all she had done and all she stands for.

But this love she’s found for herself is one of forgiveness, of understanding, of security. It is not the fleeting love of discipline, hard to get and impossible to hold on to. Martha’s friends love her when she is happy and loving and kind, but also when she is frightened and anxious and angry. Martha loves her friends when they are supportive and gentle and sweet, but also when they are tired or sick or ignorant.

It isn’t perfect, it isn’t ideal. She still goes home to angry fists and there are still nights when her father’s shadow falls across her bed, when he asks for a kiss goodnight but takes so much more. But when he tells her _this is love, isn't it lovely, don't you love it,_ she doesn’t believe him. She is more than his doll, silent and beautiful. She is her own person, and she is able to believe that she is worth so, so much more.

—-

_“They say that love gives you the strength to turn pain into power.”_

_Eyes closed. Knowing smile. “That must be.” The taste of victory on her tongue, expelled in a song of hope._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! This is my first time posting a Spring Awakening fic on AO3, but I decided that there simply wasn't enough for this lovely show, and decided to contribute some, myself. This is very much based on a rp group where I play Martha, and a few of the situations are taken directly from the plot of that group. But a lot of it is just my imagination, since we don't really have a "full cast" yet. Still, this is definitely dedicated to my lovely and wonderful partners over at theguiltyonesrp!
> 
> This was first inspired by my url for that Martha (thatmustbe), and quickly developed from the self-analysis she's been doing lately. I absolutely love her character, and wish that canon left her with some resolution. This is my own attempt at giving her some, and also just paying attention to the dear that I love so much. I hope you enjoy it!! Comments would make me really excited, honestly.


End file.
